I'm Dating Ms Dawes
by heatherpoulette
Summary: Ms. Dawes realizes that in all her years of teaching at Degrassi she has never been attracted to a student the way she is for a particular black wearing, apple eating junior. Harmless nonsense.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Degrassi

_**I'm not sure where this story came from - probably from rewatching TBP eps over the past week. It's pure nonsense but whatever. **_

I knew it wasn't right to be so attracted to a student. In all my years of teaching - first art, now English, this had truly never happened to me before. Sure, I had heard of colleagues who developed attractions to their students, but I had always scoffed at the mere notion of it. Until he walked into my classroom.

I was old enough to be his mother, this I was certain of. It did not matter. His black clothes, his carefully styled hair meant to look unstyled, his piercing green eyes, his gift for writing (although he was slightly wordy, even I will admit) all created this perfect mysterious package that I was curious to unwrap, to see what was truly inside. I knew I had never seen him around the school before, at least not in any of my classes.

I knew needed to distract myself from my attraction to him in the hope that it would fade away. And yet I could not, no matter what I did. Sometimes I wish the LARPing Club had not been disbanded but unfortunately that was no longer an option. He became my obsession, yet I knew it would only be a matter of time before he paired himself off with another student he was attracted to. The thought of this made me sick yet I did not know how to prevent it. Then it came to me - I would partner him with another student in the class, a student who might be able to help him with his writing but who would be so different from him that while they would be spending many hours together, nothing romantic would come of it and I could fantasize about having him for myself a little longer. Clare Edwards would be the perfect partner for him.

And yet it all started to go wrong. The attraction between the two of them was instantly obvious to me even before either one of them was aware of it. They got under each other's skin - they challenged each other, pushed each other, complimented each other despite seemingly being so different on the surface. And when I watched their Romeo & Juliet video, and their "staged" kiss, I knew all irrational fantasies I had ever held onto about possibly being with him one day were just that - irrational fantasies. I knew that these two had what I had always hoped for. And no matter what, it would not be altered.

And so I stepped back into my role of teacher and him as student (not that he ever knew there was any difference in his world.) I gave her advice about trying to be friends even if one of them wanted more than a friendship than the other. I watched as they got together, broke up, got back together, broke up. Allowed him to write a play that was obviously about her. A play that soon descended into the dangerous territory of love bordering on obsession and madness, yet I did not ever voice my concerns to the principal or his parents (perhaps if there had a been a guidance counselor I could have turned to her but there was no one who had filled that role) in the hopes that at the end of it all, he would turn to me for comfort and know that I alone recognized his madness for brilliance, I alone accepted him, allowed his countless last-minute rewrites and understood him for who he was. And yet, it never happened. As I began the applause for him which resulted in a standing ovation even after he almost set the stage on fire, as I told his parents how phenomenally gifted he was (ignoring the worry and concern in his father's eyes) I knew. My beautiful boy had significant issues and unless he got better we would never be together. But I knew he would. Get better.

Sadly, Degrassi decided they did not need a teacher with my stellar resume (or perhaps they decided that I did not handle Love Roulette in the proper way, that possibility has not escaped me) and the day of seeing him again in my classroom never came. As I continue to teach art , English and drama at a high school across town, I can't help but think about the boy with the piercing green eyes who used to coloring his nails with a black Sharpie as he tuned the world out. On my break, I sometimes stare at the silver skull hood ornament I keep on my desk as a paperweight, and when the halls get particularly noisy and I am grading papers, I put on my noise-cancellation headphones I "found" in Clare Edward's bag one day. They remind me of him


End file.
